


Vigil for Forgiveness

by Engineer104



Series: I Would Write 500 Words (and I Would Write 500 More) [9]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Angst, Any Route But Crimson Flower, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Grief/Mourning, RIP Duke Aegir you will not be missed, canon character death, i suppose i already fulfilled my CF quota for the week
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-01
Updated: 2020-02-01
Packaged: 2021-02-22 11:23:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22515358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Engineer104/pseuds/Engineer104
Summary: Ferdinand mourns his father’s death at the hands of the mob in the only way he can think of:  by praying for forgiveness.
Relationships: Ferdinand von Aegir/Dorothea Arnault
Series: I Would Write 500 Words (and I Would Write 500 More) [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1591699
Comments: 5
Kudos: 78
Collections: Those Who Drabble in the Dark





	Vigil for Forgiveness

**Author's Note:**

> This idea kinda jumped fully formed into my head so i decided to go with it. Another one for Roxy’s prompt: “goodbyes”.
> 
> It’s been a while since i wrote ferdithea so i hope I stuck the landing. please enjoy <3

Ferdinand’s knees ache with how long he’s knelt on the stone cathedral floor before the altar. His prayers, a long thread of thoughts with no rhyme or rhythm, no longer fall from his lips; they dry up without his voice to speak them, and Ferdinand finds the words refusing to come. 

He prayed for forgiveness at first, for himself for turning against his beloved Adrestia, for Edelgard for turning against the goddess herself, for his father for the sins he can no longer atone for and the shortcomings he can no longer amend. His heart bleeds in his chest, tight and aching worse than his trembling legs and heavy head. 

Now he cannot bring himself to stand, sure that the instant he does he will crumple in front of all the other evening worshippers, which would be most unbecoming for the only living scion of House Aegir. 

Ferdinand knows it is a foolish concern, a petty weakness in the face of the worse grief crushing his chest, but his nobility has always been an anchor to withstand any uncertainty. 

Heels click behind him, but Ferdinand does not look up from the altar even when someone kneels beside him. “I don’t know how to pray to something I don’t believe in,” a soft voice says, “but I can if only you’d take a break, Ferdie.”

His eyes widen and at last he turns to face Dorothea, staring at him with her green eyes full of sympathy. He unfurls his stiff, clasped fingers to free himself of the shock of hearing her speak to him with no venom dripping from her voice, with no harsh words falling from her tongue. 

(It’s been a long time since she spoke to him with such disdain.)

“Dorothea,” he says, and it’s a testament to his shock that he feels no mortification at how his voice cracks. “What are you doing here?” He never sees her in the cathedral except for choir practice, when her love of song and the hymnals overpowers her distaste of the Church. 

“I knew you’d be here,” she says simply with the slightest smile curling her lips. “You really should get some rest, Ferdie. Everyone else will be worried if you’re not there to criticize their lack of ‘noble habits’ in the morning.”

Ferdinand feels a smile of his own shaping his face. How easily she can fill him with a cheer that seems to distant he does not understand. But it falters too quickly and he again faces the altar. “I am afraid I must keep my vigil overnight,” he tells her. “It is only fitting for the late Duke Aegir.”

_ And there is no one else to keep that tradition but me. _

Dorothea sighs. “Ferdie...you’ve been here all day already. At least…” Her hand rests on his arm, warm and far gentler than she ever bothered being with him. 

For a heartbeat Ferdinand wonders if she will berate him for mourning a man like his father, corrupt and power hungry and an awful facsimile of a noble. But instead she says, “I was hoping to take tea with you, just to keep you company. I’ll even brew us the pot.”

Ferdinand’s resolve crumples, the tether he has to his father - a bad man and a worse noble - faltering. Dorothea’s invitation extends a hand to him and eases some of the pain in his heart, and he decides he need not linger over his goodbyes. 

When Ferdinand stands on legs that shake more than he will ever care to admit, he offers Dorothea a hand. She takes it, her slim fingers wrapping around his, and as he tugs her to his feet he smiles and says, “I will brew the tea. I am afraid making tea is not one of your many talents.”

Dorothea laughs with her eyes sparkling, by and Ferdinand cannot help but think the goddess has answered his prayers after all. 

**Author's Note:**

> drabbling is fun when i don’t have the mental capacity for anything complicated


End file.
